


accept or forfeit

by bangandawhimper



Series: flagrantly twisting maruki’s palace for my own devious ends [1]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Angst, Dubious Consent, M/M, Masturbation, Tentacles, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:41:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26870800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bangandawhimper/pseuds/bangandawhimper
Summary: Goro’s room turns out to be just another small white box, and he assumes the other Thieves will see the same in theirs. A door is on the opposite side—it has a red glow to it and the wordFORFEITshining above.As if it were made specifically to get on his nerves.[Written for day 7 of Kinktober 2020]
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: flagrantly twisting maruki’s palace for my own devious ends [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1975315
Comments: 11
Kudos: 207





	accept or forfeit

Takuto Maruki must be a sadist. Or someone who gets off to watching other struggle with stupid bullshit puzzles, at the very least. Goro stares in despair at the next set of colored elevators, one for each member of their party, and the familiar Shadow-with-clipboard waiting to greet them in front of it.

Goro likes puzzles. Loves them, in fact. What he does not love is having to watch as other people ponder the most basic of riddles for far too long, especially when the answers are so fucking obvious.

He rests against a wall while Joker and Queen approach the Shadow for a little recon. Wraps his arms around himself, keeps one eye on Joker in case trouble stirs up and the other on the rest of the Thieves to make sure no one bothers him.

Let’s see if he can predict how this will play out. Just for fun.

One elevator per person, a Palace about “happiness” (enormous quotation marks there), and they’d just come from a trial that judged them on their ability to choose options that match Maruki’s worldview. They’ve proven themselves worthy of continuing on their journey to “happiness” (again, just the largest of quotations) so now…

Now they’ll have to prove that they can accept that happiness when it’s given to them.

“It’s a trial,” Queen tells the Thieves when the pair of them finally return. Joker stands behind her, hands in his pockets like always. “They’re going to find something about each of us that they think is holding us back from being happy and see if we refuse to receive it.”

Goro wins.

“You mean… would they show me my father again?” Noir asks, desperation creeping into her voice. “That’s what they thought would make me happy, right?”

_That_ is _what made you happy_ , Goro thinks at her, more than a little viciously. _And it wouldn’t work this time unless they steal your brain and memories as well. Again._

“I’m not sure,” Queen replies.

“And we have to go in there a-alone?” Futaba asks. She’s typing frantically on her laptop, no doubt trying to— “I’m trying but… I can’t see anything inside those rooms.”

Joker steps forward, easily takes charge from Queen. Ever the leader. “They said we can leave if we want.”

“But then we’ll probably have to fight something… like if we’d chosen wrong in the last trial…”

“So we’ll fight,” Joker says immediately.

Oracle looks unconvinced, still nervously wringing her hands, so Goro kicks off his wall because someone has to get this show on the road, as usual.

“Honestly I have half a mind to walk right out,” Goro says as he passes Joker and Queen, leader and wannabe. “I have no interest in whatever false fantasy Maruki thinks he can cook up for me, and it’s been ages since we’ve had a worthwhile battle.”

And he’s serious too—through with jumping through Maruki’s hoops, tired of playing his little games. Until Joker’s deep voice stops him in his tracks: “don’t think you can handle it, Crow?”

And that’s how Goro Akechi ends up going up his elevator, same as the rest of the Thieves, with absolute determination to win against whatever he’ll find in his fucking room.

But his fucking room turns out to be just another small white box. He assumes the others will see the same… he hopes. A door is on the opposite side—it has a red glow to it and the word _FORFEIT_ shining above. As if it were made specifically to get on his nerves.

Goro stands. There. Waits.

“Well?” he finally asks, arms spread out. Gestures a bit, as if he’s trying to get a computer to recognize he’s there. “I’m ready for your test, Maruki.”

Waits a bit longer. Taps his foot.

He’s just about to accept that he’s a special case—what with him being dead and only resurrected because a teenager thought he was too pathetic to stay that way—when a ring of light finally appears above him. Moves up and down his body with a little _wub wub_ sound, like he’s in a sci-fi B-movie. How quaint.

The ring disappears after a few rounds, then a computerized voice announces pleasantly: “happiness comes from accepting physical touch.”

And then four tentacles drop down from the ceiling around him.

Goro immediately springs into action, ducks and rolls out of the way to propel himself to the side of the room, faces the things with his sword drawn.

They’re a familiar sight now, after spending so long in both this Palace and the newly-invaded Mementos. Just like the things that took Yoshizawa back at the start of all this—dark, pulsing with blue-ish light, ending with a multi-tipped appendage that could almost be mistaken for a hand, if that hand had very long, glowing fingers.

The tentacles turn to face him, but make no move toward him otherwise. The door stays red.

_FORFEIT._

_Don’t think you can handle it, Crow?_

“‘Accepting physical touch?’” Goro swallows. Keeps his sword at the ready. “Is it required to be these… things?” he asks the mysterious computer controlling the test. Thanks god it isn’t Maruki, and prays the man is none the wiser as to what the hell is going on right now.

“Data shows subject would be unresponsive to human projections,” the computer responds very nicely.

“You don’t know anything about me,” Goro snaps immediately, all the while cycling through his options to prove it wrong—searching for literally any option other than this.

Anyone he knows, anyone he used to know, anyone he doesn’t know… but they’ll have to touch him. Actually, physically touch him. Goro feels a pitiful, childish fear well up in his throat at the thought of—what, Sae Niijima? Getting that close? Sakamoto, Takamaki? God forbid—his, his mother? His _father?_ Or even worse—

_Don’t think you can handle it, Crow?_

But it wouldn’t be real. Would be some sort of projection, a fake, plastered on top of what would in all likelihood be a fucking tentacle anyway. Or worse, a Shadow.

At least this way he has the truth.

He could also walk out.

The tentacles hover a few feet above the ground, dangling patiently.

“Fine,” he hissed through his teeth. Doesn’t put away his weapon, grips it even tighter. “But this is pointless.” Goro thinks about it a bit longer, then quickly adds, “and—and if you try anything inappropriate I’m leaving.”

The tentacles don’t laugh. Joker would have. Probably out of pity. Because Goro is pathetic.

One of them creeps a little closer, as if understanding that Goro has given them permission to continue. It seems to be aiming for his right side, maybe his arm. The one without the sword. That’s fine, he can always swing around, can always pull out his gun. He has options. There are only four of them. He wonders how sentient these things are, wonders if they have minds of their own or operate as a hive, wonders frantically about all sorts of things to try and fail to take his mind off the fact that—

“ _Ah!_ ”

Goro jolts his arm away as if it were shocked, feels like he was, feels the spot where the tentacle had brushed against him burn like fire through the thin material of his suit. He can’t help taking a step back, then another, and another until his back hits a wall. He’s holding the hilt of his sword so tight that he can imagine the usually unyielding material bending under his grip.

He looks at the door.

_FORFEIT._

_FORFEIT._

Goro has never forfeited anything in his life.

He can’t lose, he can’t lose. Not because of this. He just has to let the stupid fucking thing touch him, that’s it.

It’s coming toward him again. Joined by a second, the other two lingering behind.

The wall isn’t moving behind him but Goro presses his back harder against it anyway. He watches, in a detached sort of way, as a tentacle brushes against his arm—just lightly, up and down, tracing a path of fire and electricity as it goes.

Goro closes his eyes. Doesn’t realize he’s slipped down to the floor until his ass hits the ground, doesn’t realize he’s dropped his sword until the claws of his gauntlet dig painfully into the meat of his palm.

That helps. The pain helps. How fucked up is that? How fucked up is he?

Another tentacle grazes him, lightly enough that he can barely feel it through his suit. A pitiful whimper escapes his throat and Goro has never been more grateful to be alone.

When was the last time someone touched him? Outside of battle, where physical contact means something has gone wrong, that the only new goal has to be to _get away?_ When was the last time he touched another person, willingly? A fucking ‘baton pass?’ Is that it? Is that all?

A tentacle wraps itself lightly around his arm. Goro jerks away again and it lets him go, momentarily, before making its approach again. He can’t stop shaking, draws his knees up to his chest. The door is still red.

He imagines the other Thieves handily completing their tasks. Laughing that he’s taking so long. Proving that they’re better than him once again.

Oh.

He remembers the last time he touched someone now.

He was in a small room, just like this. Completely in control. On top of the world. His ears were still ringing from the shot, his wrist hurt from the kickback, his gun was still warm—but not quite as warm as Akira’s hand, even through Goro’s glove, even though Akira was dead.

He was warm, he was hot, he was burning. Even dead. Even when it wasn’t actually him.

And now Goro is the one who is almost assuredly dead, trapped in the Palace of a madman, in a small white room, being felt up by tentacles and clinging to the memory of the dead body of the boy he killed.

And the door is still red.

It’s been minutes. It’s been hours. He has to do something. Obviously just letting this happen isn’t enough. Goro knocks his head against the wall, tries to think. It’s nearly impossible through the fog of all these fucking tentacles _rubbing_ and _petting_ him.

And then Goro remembers—out of nowhere, as if his subconscious can’t help but solve puzzles even without him. He remembers that he has to want it.

And… he did want Akira. Back in that room, high off his victory, he lingered against his limp hand, caressed his lifeless fingers.

One of the tentacles slithers past Goro’s arm, curls around his midsection as he slips his gauntlets off. Touches his own bare hand, shuts his eyes even tighter, imagines it’s Akira’s hand from that day. Still warm.

He has to want this to win, has to accept it. His ‘ _happiness_.’

“More,” Goro whispers to the tentacles. No—to Akira. Because Akira would be so confident, so perfect, always so fucking infuriatingly perfect, so of course he wouldn’t show any hesitation. He’d be eager. Willing to take more.

“ _More_ ,” Goro says again.

And Akira gives him exactly what he demands—gently strokes across Goro’s stomach, rubs his arm, makes him comfortable. Caresses him like he’s something precious, like Goro always hoped a real lover might. If Goro opened his eyes Akira would be there, staring back at him, watching him silently and carefully like he always does.

Goro wrenches off his helmet, places it next to him, and Akira immediately takes advantage, brushes his hand against Goro’s cheek. Warm, soft, gentle. Goro leans into his touch, shivers again.

_Does that feel good, Akechi?_ Akira asks, low and husky.

“Mm,” Goro hums. It might come out breathier than he’s ever heard himself, but that might be from the echo of the room they’re in. Might be because of the pounding of his heart drowning out any other noise.

He relaxes a bit more, lets Akira wind slowly around his calf, up his thigh.

“Ah—” It feels good, it feels so good, “ _Akira_.”

Akira’s hands on him, finally. Having his way with him, finally. He can see a blush color Akira’s sharp cheekbones, can see his grey eyes blown out and dark and looking at Goro exactly the way he’s always wanted, singularly focused on him.

Goro’s back arches, thoughts going satisfyingly hazy in pleasure. Akira is everywhere—his legs, chest, wrapped around his arms, sliding behind his shoulder blades. Everywhere but the place Goro needs him. He just needs a little “ _more_ , Akira.” Goro moans, clutches the hand on his chest, presses him closer and—

_Beep_.

Goro’s eyes fly open. The tentacles—all four of them—unwind from around every part of his body, quickly retreat back into the ceiling. And then they’re gone, as if they were never there. Akira is gone.

Goro is alone, in a small white room.

The door is green now. He won.

He’s _alone_.

He wraps his arms around himself, trembles violently from the cold. Or from the heat still lingering on him, inside him. _Come back_ , Goro almost says, but he still has too much pride for that.

_Don’t think you can handle it, Crow?_

Pathetic. He’s pathetic. Worked up from some fucking tentacles. Brought low by nothing but his own worthless mind.

_You liked it, didn’t you, Akechi?_

In a fit of wild, thoughtless desperation Goro pops the snaps off the front of his suit, shoves his hand inside and takes hold of himself. He’s aching, straining, frantic—

_Disgusting_ , Akira growls. _Like an animal. Is this your true self?_

Goro whimpers an affirmative, works his hand up and down faster, harder, his hips fucking up into his fist. He brushes his other hand to his cheek. Leans against it. Tentacles and imagined Akira and dead Akira all meld together in his head, all taunting him—he was already so close, he needs more, just a little more—

_You want me to touch you, Akechi?_

“Yes—”

_Just like that, Crow?_

“More—”

_Are you going to come, Goro?_

“ _Ah—!_ ”

He’s finally, mercifully pushed over the edge, comes so hard that he bursts into tears—a hysterical, uncontrollable sort of sobbing that drowns out any remaining pleasure he could be feeling as his body continues to tense and pulse with his release.

He’s so _tired_. He’s so tired, and he’s so alone, and he’s so fucking lonely. Goro curls in further and further on himself, presses the heels of his hands to his eyes and wails.

He hasn’t felt the touch of another person in years, years. He’d forgotten what it felt like. He hasn’t cried in years. He was fine, he was blissfully unaware, until _this_ had to happen to him. Because Goro can’t be allowed even one ounce of dignity, not even in death.

He tries to bring himself out of his useless little pity-party a few times.

Falls back in a few times.

Eventually manages to button his suit back up, puts his helmet back on.

The door is still green.

There’s nothing left to do but keep going. At least his mask will cover his puffy eyes, Goro thinks, too tired to care as much as he should.

He takes a breath to center himself, then walks out of the room.

“ _HEY CROW!_ ” someone immediately shouts, startling him backward.

“Woo!!” someone else yells enthusiastically—there’s scattered clapping as well.

“Great job, probably!”

Goro stares, tries to kickstart his brain into being able to make sense of anything.

Panther runs up to him, holds her hands out like he’s a frightened animal and then laughs in his face. “Sorry! Sorry. Uh, that place has seriously sucked for everybody so we’re trying to make a little celebration out of it when people get out. Congrats!”

She waves him over to a resting area just a little ways away from all the doors, where Oracle, Noir, Joker, Violet, and Skull are all spread out. They give him cursory acknowledgement, then go back to doing whatever the fuck they do when they’re bored.

So. Still waiting on Queen, Fox, and Morgana then. At least he wasn’t last.

Goro finds a wall away from all of them, leans against it. Keeps one eye on the doors, the other on the rest of the Thieves to make sure no one bothers him.

Joker is just sitting there, idly spinning his knife through his fingers. Goro tries to forget.

The others arrive in short order, in various states of shock and despair. Everyone completes their task, so they don’t have to fight anything, so what Goro went through in that room was worth it. It was worth it.

He can feel the group’s collective exhaustion, can feel Joker’s calculating eyes on them and knows he’ll call it a day soon. For all their cute little celebrations, none of them have spoken up about what happened in each of their rooms—a silent, tacit agreement that there’s no need to share—

“So! That sucked. Anyone wanna talk about it?” Skull asks, as soon as they start their way towards the nearest safe room.

“No,” Joker says. “They made me talk.”

Goro blinks at him. That’s _it?_

“Wha—that’s it?”

Joker shrugs, continues leading the group.

“What about?”

Joker shrugs again.

“Huh,” Skull says. Seems like he might be about to drop it, until they reach the safe room and Goro hurries past him to reach it. “What about you, Crow?” the idiot asks, because Goro can’t have a single moment’s rest around these people.

“Why the fuck would I tell you,” Goro says—but he’s miscalculated. He hasn’t spoken since the room. And his voice, horrifyingly, wobbles a bit.

But Skull rolls his eyes, makes his way to an open bench. No one else reacts. No one else noticed. 

Goro can feel Joker staring at him. He closes his eyes.

_Don’t think you can handle it, Crow?_

“Crow,” Joker says quietly, close to him now. “Are you—”

Something touches his shoulder.

Goro flinches, smacks Joker’s hand away. “ _Don’t touch me!!_ ” he snarls, twists his voice with as much malice and hostility as he can so it doesn’t crack a second time. “I’m _fine._ ”

The room goes silent. Joker blinks at him. Closes his mouth, cutting off whatever else he was going to say. He nods, a little hesitantly, and walks away to check on one of the other Thieves.

Goro closes his eyes again, shuts them as tight as possible. Breathes slowly and carefully, in and out. Wraps his arms around himself.

His shoulder burns.


End file.
